


Minerva et Mendacius et Veritas

by BrainlessGenius



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Baker Morality | Patton Sanders, Curses, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Discrimination, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Logic | Logan Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, King Thomas Sanders, Librarian Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders Are Siblings, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, One Shot, Or Lovers if you want to, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prince Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Prince Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Prompt Fill, Scholar Logic | Logan Sanders, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrainlessGenius/pseuds/BrainlessGenius
Summary: When the very first person who discovers the enchanted Mirror of Veritas, a mirror which speaks of truth, fails to return, his name is forgotten to the world. A thousand years later, a scholar by the name of Logan is ordered by His Majesty and His Highnesses to locate the fabled mirror and return bearing its whereabouts. His quest is not as smooth of a journey as he had hoped, and Logan finds himself in a twist upon hearing of what the mirror has to say.A fill for the prompt request: "Logan being sent on a quest to find a magic mirror that only speaks in truth, not knowing that it has been cursed."
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Minerva et Mendacius et Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CodeCarpenterBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodeCarpenterBee/gifts).



> **Warning/s:** Discrimination based on appearance, slight mention of burning/witchcraft/the like, major character injury, wounds, quickly referenced/mentioned suicide, slight suggestive and threatening jokes (courtesy of Remus). Please inform me if I forgot anything.

It was a commoner who first discovered the Mirror of Veritas. 

The entire village had called him a “monster” and whispered rumors about the origins of the scale-like brandings on half of his face. Some thought his mother catered an affair with a sentient reptilian being while some followed him around, trying to learn whether he was indeed dipped into a boiling cauldron as a wee babe as a partial sacrifice. Some went as far as to think of him as a son of Beelzebub himself or a fallen angel cursed by the gods to walk this earth as half a beast. At a young age they accused his mother of witchcraft to explain why the deities cursed her with such a heinous offspring. 

She was burned at the stake in front of his very eyes, and since then he was alone with nothing but his clothes and his name in his possession. 

The name itself was already a brash reminder of his misfortune --  _ Janus.  _ The two-faced Roman god. It wasn’t hard believing the steely accusations and grand stories the townsfolk uttered when the shawl fell from his face while running from an angered, one-loaf-less baker. Or when the other children scampered in fear or the mothers shielded the other little boys’ eyes at the sight of him.

It was only natural that Janus grew up with a burning hatred boiling under his skin and heavy chains in his ribcage in place of a heart.

A nasty brawl, a black eye, and a swarm of blade-mouthed townsfolk led him to flee the village at the ripe age of eighteen. With nowhere to seek shelter, he sought to find any means to cover up the source of his demise in hopes of settling for a new life in another, far-off town, where not one soul knew of the tragedy marring his skin and the hardships signing itself on his body. Days passed and attempts were made, yet the barren traveler remained without penny, smile, or hope.

Until his enervated feet pulled him into the heart of a forest, his thirst begged him to journey further to a waterfall, and his weary bones dragged him past its forcefully running liquid and into the damp cave behind it. Upon his waking in the dark crevice, he found it.

A mirror gilded with the most plentiful adornments of gold, ruby, and emerald, embedded deep into the farthest wall by the lowest ceiling of the cave. It glinted light off and onto the harsh rock around it, shining it into the curtain of water by the mouth of the opening. 

The Mirror of Veritas. 

Until then, Janus thought it had been nothing more than a myth. So he tested it with none more than a simple question. 

“What’s my name?” 

All too sudden the glass shone bright enough for his eyes to flutter shut. Then a whisper was heard, soothing, comforting and much like the motherly touch Janus yearned for the entirety of his existence. 

_ “~Janus~” _

Once the awe and disbelief drained from his body, he realized this was the solution to his every conundrum. The inquiries came flooding easily after that. The mirror told him what he needed to create a concoction to cover up the markings on his face. It told him where to find a heaping of riches buried under the ground, forgotten and abandoned by the first sea-farers who once set foot on the virgin land. It told him where the nearest kingdom was, how to gain the people’s trust, what they wanted, how to achieve each request, who were suspicious of his origins and who believed him, who were his enemies and who were his friends.

He hung on to the mirror as if it were his lifeline. Soon, Janus arose as one of the most respected, ever-revered noblemen in the kingdom; a symbol of power, a beckoning force who seemed to have the silver tongue for differentiating truth from lie. People went as far as to consider him the right hand of the king, and who was he to deny such an honor? His hegemony and their deference stood against the tides of time while the mirror secretly lay behind Janus’s figurative throne, hidden and whispering behind the same waterfall.

Until more commoners found the mirror themselves.

In a flit of terror, rage, and unbridled desperation, Janus rushed back to the cave bearing a sharp, hook-like tool. In one powerful, swooping motion he attacked the surrounding rock, eyes growing wide when crumbs of the cave’s wall fell at his feet, more of the mirror’s golden shine peaking through the newly-made crevices. He did it again, and again, and again, until more and more of its golden frame came out from its encasing rock.

With another hoarse shout, a large crack finally resounded under the weapon’s feet. Before even an inch of the mirror could be wedged free of its earthy confines, the cave’s walls shook, the golden exterior glowed its blinding splendor, and his fear-stricken reflection shone brighter than any star in the sky.

Not a single inch nor evidence of Janus returned to the kingdom, and news of the mirror spread farther and wider. Every noble and commoner who stood in the cave found no body nor garment of the first person to ever discover the mirror’s gifts, and Janus’s name was soon erased and thrown into the compelling throes of the cave’s waterfall.

Janus was forgotten while the mirror was worshipped, as it would be for the next centuries.

~~~

As one of the village scholars, Logan knows of the Mirror of Veritas. It’s a fascinating enough study, with the local library bearing enough literature on it to keep him occupied for an entire moon cycle. He’s read enough on the now thousand-year old mirror, on accounts narrating its physical descriptions, the nature in which it speaks to you, and how it’s been centuries since the existence of the last individual who saw it.

The discourse on it is especially titillating. See, most scrolls and leatherbinds detail how not all who encounter the mirror return satisfied. Some are endowed with an overwhelming sense of euphoria from what they hear while some make it back a different person; distrusting, isolated, and blank.

Some never return at all.

Like most scholarly men, Logan stands by the fact that the mirror is merely doing what is expected of it-- to communicate truth, and that the differing responses of the people who chance upon it are foreseeable. After all, verity is not always as taste-sweeting as one hopes, and it is not the truth’s responsibility to bend its words to save one from one’s own emotional distress.

He does not necessarily believe the fanciful tales, no. What are the chances of there being an omniscient object wedged deep within a cave behind a waterfall in the middle of the woods? Yet he still allows himself the distraction of a few mounds of books and a countable sizing of minutes allotted for Veritas-centered discussion.

He is considered as one of the sharpest minds in the kingdom, even having the privilege of being summoned by the Princes Roman and Remus and His Majesty, King Theomas on a few occasions to utilize his mental expertise. Word has stretched within their little village of Logan’s unbridled neutrality and the impressive breadth of his logical wisdom.

But his hankering for knowledge has its price. Long since has Logan given up any accommodation for objectivity’s greatest foe, its most tragic downfall--  _ emotions. _

Already was he known to be a tad distant and perhaps even detached in childhood. But while most of the other village girls and boys considered it an oddity, as they’ve made very clear with their taunts, sneers, and snickers, Logan considered it a strength. He held onto his repressive ability and amplified it, growing satisfied at how a clearing of any and all feeling in him made room for and and all information in his head.

Even when a few others around him tells him otherwise.

“Patton, are you certain that your brother even has teeth in that garrulous mouth of his?” Virgil, the village bookkeeper, often asks. A bothersome running gag he and Patton have during Logan’s regular library visits.

Patton invades Logan’s space to inspect his face and interrupt his reading; once again a regular action from their repetitive scene. “You know, I am not so sure, Virgil. Why, I think the last time I’ve caught a glimpse of his choppers was during his birth!”

They share a muted laugh while Logan rolls his eyes, having to restart reading at the beginning of the page. “You were not alive yet for my birth, Patton. What a ridiculous fallacy that is. If you two are quite done with your foolishness I would very much appreciate a moment of silence.”

Patton sits down beside him and pats down his overalls, still dusty and white from another day at the bakery. “Oh, lighten up dear brother. Virgil and I are only concerned, is all. You spend more time here than you do back at home. If I weren’t any wiser I’d think you lived here!”

Virgil feigns an exaggerated gasp while one of his suspenders slides down undetected. “Hold on, do you mean to tell me he  _ doesn’t  _ live here? My life has been a lie!” Once more, they break into a fit of laughter until Virgil himself has to gesture for them both to cease their fun.

“Patton, you know very well that His Majesty  _ and  _ His Royal Highnesses rely on me greatly and it will be a true shame if I were to let them down--”

“But with all this time you’ve spent huddled away in the library corner have you not learned enough already? Besides, I dread to think of what mother and father might say--”

“I am plenty aware of mother and father’s opinions of me, thank you very much.” He repositions his spectacles. “In fact, they might be more appreciative if their younger, more ‘productive’ son returns home without his ‘lackadaisical, deadweight’ brother in tow.” In response, Patton and Virgil blink at him and Logan sighs in frustration. “Lackadaisical is lazy, in case you were both lost.” They both nod in acknowledgement with slightly ajar lips.

Virgil leans closer to the siblings. “Your folks don’t really think that, do they?”

Logan shoots him a deadpan expression while Patton puts a finger to his lips away from Logan’s view in a gesture of silence. “I saw that from my periphery, Patton.” Logan faces him, the pocket watch in his vest pocket clinging as he does so. “I have no regard for emotion, if you recall. You do not need to keep their hatred towards me a secret as it will do nothing to affect me in any manner at all.”

“Logan, that was nothing but a tease. You know little old me. How many times do I need to reiterate that mother and father would never think of you in such a wa--”

“There is nothing more to say on the matter and I would like my silence now, please. Thank you.”

It is only a matter of uncomfortable minutes before Patton takes his leave, tipping the hat off his brown curls and leaving Logan to the silence of the library. 

Virgil still attempts another strike of dialogue. “Perhaps a slight deviation from your usual routine will benefit you, Logan. You could do with a grin or two every once in a blue moon--”

“I said I would appreciate my silence now, Virgil. I have no use for your concern.” Logan doesn’t pay any mind to what expression Virgil’s features take up on as he slowly lifts off his chair to return to his own desk.

If there is a peculiar twinge in his mid-chest area, he simply overlooks it; as he has done countless times before and as he will do for plenty more in the coming days.

Being called into the palace after seven sunsets is no longer a bewildering occurrence. However, the royals’ request this time around certainly is.

King Theomas is nowhere to be seen in the throne room once the towering doors are opened for him. Logan walks the length of the soft, red carpet while two armored guards trail behind him. At his approach, Prince Roman stands and dismisses the guards, signaling them to leave him, Logan, and Prince Remus alone. Logan bows and rises again at His Highness’s word.

The red and white-clad prince steps down with his sword clattering against his side, a cape slung haphazardly over one shoulder and barely dragging along the floor. “Ah, Logan! I always look forward to your visitations. Saturn is witness to just how much that brilliant mind of yours has done for our land.”

Logan stands straight and in respect. “You are too kind, Your Highness. I am simply doing what is anticipated of me.” 

Beside Prince Roman, his brother in black and green lets out a hefty cackle, stepping down as well with heavier steps. “Careful, scholar. If you feed into Roman’s desire for obedience and submission far too much he may as well end up with an infatuation for you and your well endowed… trousers.”

The other prince looks unamused at the suggestive remark but Logan is wise enough to maintain his civility and drop the comment. “It has been made known to me that I have been called over to carry out a task for His Majesty--”

Prince Roman cuts him off with a boisterous voice echoing through the voluminous throne room. “Yes, indeed! Although unfortunately father is feeling a little under the weather so pardon having to tolerate my brother’s inappropriate musings in his stead--”

“Oh, brother dear, if you merely wanted time alone with the scholar’s loquacious lips I would have gladly left the room all to your disposal--”

A loud clearing of Roman’s throat ends Prince Remus’s statement. “Yes, thank you, that is enough, Remus. Now, it has come to our knowledge that you have spent years of study to gain a deep understanding about a certain item that will prove very useful if ever the nether kingdoms continue to wage war on our own. So tell me, do you indeed carry an extensive comprehension about… the Mirror of Veritas?”

The name snatches Logan’s attention. “That is correct, Sire. I have scoured every literature on it the village library has.”

Prince Roman clasps his hands together as his face lights up. “Excellent! We’ll be asking the handmaidens to provide you with supplies then we shall send you on your way to find it--”

Logan stammers. “Pardon?”

The taller, capeless prince raises an eyebrow and steps nearer. “Did you not hear His Royal Highness? My, just seconds ago your ears were just as functional as a hummingbird’s wings, and I have not even gotten a chance to cleave them off yet--”

“Behave, Remus.” Prince Roman looks to the scholar once more. “Will there be a problem with this, Logan?”

Logan bows his head slightly. “None at all, Your Highness. It is just that my studies are leading me to the belief that perhaps the mirror’s existence is not that probable--”

“Are you doubting your rulers, scholar?” Prince Remus takes on a lower, more aggressive tone. One that sends the hairs on Logan’s skin raising on alert. He knows better than to agitate royalty.

He retains his bowed stance, never meeting the princes’ eyes. “I am not, Your Highness. Forgive my foolishness. I shall do as you please.”

Prince Remus smiles as his brother starts to walk back to the throne. “Very well. Off you go, then. And you are not to return until you bear news of the mirror’s whereabouts, yes?”

“As you wish, sire--”

“Oh, and Logan?” He raises his head to see His Highness the Prince on the throne bearing a brown bag tied with rope in his gloved hand. “You will be rewarded generously upon your return.”

Logan was never one to find pleasure in material treasures, but the image of coming home to mother and father with a sizable smattering of gold in hand bleeds into his mind nonetheless. Hope worms into his heart and he disintegrates it before it grows into more.

He hears Prince Roman order the handmaidens to prepare anything Logan may need on his journey and the guards to escort him on his way out. Before he sets off, Logan takes a handful of minutes off of his time to bid farewell to his parents and his brother. The latter all but cries into the thick fabric of Logan’s royalty-sourced vest, his half-filthy wool sleeved-arms coming around to wrap Logan in a tight embrace.

“Come home as soon as you can, alright? Please tread safely, Logan.”

“Of course, Patton. I assure you that no harm will befall me.”

His parents must not be discredited as they too send him off with an embrace, but one swimming in a thick coating of silence. When they send him off with their blessing and a wish of luck, Logan thinks of how the embrace might feel different once he comes back bearing his reward.

It is the first time Logan genuinely wishes for the mirror to turn out not just probable, nor just possible, but real. There, tangible, and real. If only to hopefully gain the slimmest taste of approval from the very people who raised him. 

He also passes by the library once more as a final stop. He asks to bring a few scrolls and books with him on his quest and Virgil duly agrees with the single condition that he return them along with his mind and body in one piece. With an assumedly well-meaning clap to Logan’s back, Virgil urges him to go on with a vexation veering closer to worriment appearing on his features.

With a bag of preserved food and a container of water, a dagger wedged in a belt loop around his hip, and a satchel filled with literature, Logan begins his expedition. Guided by what he already knows, he trudges towards the edge of the woods with the harsh sunlight beating down on his back, a white piece of cloth slung around his neck to aid with the sweat rolling down his skin. 

Getting to the forest is an effortless task. It’s traversing the unfathomable expanses of it and inferring where among its lush greenery the fabled waterfall lies that poses a real challenge. He treks the damp, brown forest grounds, only stopping every once in a while to consult his papers or take a swig from his container. The nights are not as kind as the days. It robs him of warmth and light, which does not bode well for his already faulty vision, and forces him to retreat for a few useless hours. 

It takes almost five sunsets before his sustenance stock dwindles. The circumstance leads to him deterring from the quest for a while to replenish his resources. Easy to utter and not to execute. There are not a lot of edible substances around, and Logan reckons that the few vegetation and fruit he gathered will not last him long. At least the miniscule spring works well to provide him with fresh water. 

He does try to stretch his gatherings as the days continue to drag on with no certain luck. But trying to extend such a dismissible amount of nourishment comes at the expense of a gurgling in his stomach and a significant increase in fatigue. The aching in his bones calls to him quicker and weariness begins to weigh him down; an exhaustion no amount of slumber on the filthy forest floor can refresh.

In all honesty, Logan is starting to think that his initial inference regarding the fictionality of the mirror was correct all along, and that perhaps His Majesty merely deliberately sent him on a wild goose chase in order to lose him to the thickness of the woods.

As another sunset closes in on the lush canopies and gentle river Logan chanced upon, the idea begins to sound not so preposterous after all. Only when he wakes does Logan realize what the curious sound of rushing water overnight and the presence of a river means.

A waterfall must be nearby.

He rushes off, running alongside the river upstream and not stopping except to catch his breath and to shake the hunger making itself known. The strong gushing of the water resounds louder and his legs begin to scream mercy as the path leads him further uphill.

At last, he sees it.

A breathy laugh escapes his lips upon sight of the truly majestic waterfall. The formation is more breathtaking than any scroll could ever have described. He wastes no time ignoring the slight airy feeling in his head and climbing the steep rock formation by the falls. Lassitude tugs at his limbs but he traipses forth, eyeing the obviously open crevice at the end of his almost vertical hike.

He shrugs off the water licking teasingly at his clothing as his feet finally arrive at the side of the cave’s mouth. As he finally steps foot at the very center of the rocky orifice, he gazes forward, taking note of the fragile, earthy footing and the long fall down. He cups his hand through the waterfall and drinks gratefully, exclaiming a triumphant sigh at his partial victory.

All that is left to do now will be to turn around and confirm the existence of the very item of His Majesty’s and His Highnesses’ attention.

Sure enough, he is greeted by a sheen of light emanating from the end of the cave. Just like the accounts said. With a hand in front of him, he tiptoes towards it. His heart flutters dangerously quick as he draws nearer and nearer until his jaw falls agape. His bespectacled gaze finally lands on the grand prize.

There, with chipped rock encasing its golden, jewel-encrusted frame and shining light off the cave’s dripping walls, lies the Mirror of Veritas.

He thinks it an insult to his skepticism that its presence right now is the first to prove Logan wrong. But if the mirror is as the scrolls say, then he supposes it is an honor to befall failure at the hands of such an enigma.

He approaches cautiously and runs a hand on the dusty glass to be greeted by a filthy reflection of himself. He tries to will his mind to coherence in order to finally prove if this sight before him is for real. After all, he does not want to disappoint His Highnesses.

“What is the name of the reigning king?”

The glass glows so that Logan has to shield his face with his arms. A wind seems to blow from somewhere, and along with it comes a whisper sounding in his ear, deep, tantalizing, and dragged-out, but still oddly gentle with its words.

_ “~His Majesty, King Thomas~” _

Logan finds it odd that the mirror chose to use King Theomas’s more personal epithet rather than his true title, but the overly analytical portion of him tells him how the answer is much more admirable. Not all people know of the king’s more common moniker. In fact, the only reason Logan has a knowing of it is due to a mere slip of the tongue from one of the princes. 

His refusal to overthink the situation can perhaps be attributed to the lightheadedness creeping on him, but he instead takes it as a sign to return home sooner to appease the qualms of his body. So he rejects the doubt and lets himself marvel in awe of this magnificent specimen, head spinning from sheer disbelief.

He pulls out his own writing utensil as he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror. He reviews his extensive notes of the entire journey he took to arrive at the destination. It will serve as his aid in travelling back and as His Highnesses’ guide in locating it. 

Logan knows better than to attempt to run off with the mirror. He’s read of the last individual who tried to do so; of how an unnamed nobleman’s greed is the cause for the chips in the surrounding rock, and how he never returned from his escapade.

He begins to draw a quick sketch of the waterfall itself, the cave, and the grandiose mirror in the remaining pages of his journal. He balances himself on a knee as he carefully eyes the enchanted object.

The silly temptation to have his fair share of enjoyment with the mirror creeps on the tired scholar. He is, in fact, the one who rediscovered it and who is about to be an unsung hero once the King utilizes the artifact in warfare. He may as well claim his right and have a bit of fun while he finishes off his sketching.

“Mirror, does His Royal Highness Prince Remus dislike me?” He looks away as the mirror shines again somehow brighter than the last and awaits its low reply.

_ “~Indeed, he does~” _

He laughs. He was always aware of the slight bite in the royal’s words and the indifference showing in his eyes. It is an answer he is unsurprised at.

He tries to get the details of the elaborate golden carvings as accurate as possible as he jokingly relays his next question. “I suppose his brother, Prince Roman, feels the same?” Once more he squints his eyes, avoiding the unreasonably even stronger light.

_ “~A correct assumption, curious scholar~” _

His hand pauses over the page. He has absolutely no right to expect more from the elder monarch. Logan is a mere commoner, after all, and in no way is it part of the rulers’ responsibilities to develop a fondness or even just an appreciation for their subjects.

But with the prince announcing how much he looked forward to his visits, Logan at least hoped for a semblance of truthfulness to his words.

His pencil scratches rougher on the paper. “Are my services to His Majesty and His Highnesses duly recognized, at least? As the royals themselves have said?” He turns his back on the brightness, the sketched lines on his drawing growing bolder by the second.

_ “~How unfortunate that they do not~” _

The hold on the pencil tightens and a few lines go askew as he nears the end of his sketch. His mind begins to feed him with more and more questions. “Will they be true to their word regarding my reward?” He feels the light of the mirror shed warmth against his back. He waits for the rumbling reply.

_ “~I am afraid not, traveller~” _

A piece of Logan cracks within while the lead almost pierces through the page. He stops himself before a tear materializes in the parchment. The mirror’s revelation brings forward a dash of anger and betrayal in him, yet he tells himself to maintain a level-head. He can deal with this information later once he is face-to-face with the royal family once more.

A much more weighted thought grazes his mind, and his eye twitches. “How about mother and father? Will my bringing home a reward beg a difference in their opinion of me?” He looks backwards and off to the side, eyes squeezing shut as the light touches his face.

_ “~Reward or no reward, what you think of your parents’ impression of you will remain true~” _

The journal slams shut. The sketch is rougher than he anticipated but he figured it was a close enough depiction of the object anyway. It’s haphazardly shoved back into his satchel before he stands up, facing the mirror with a new-found brew of detriment and ire.

He bothers not pushing the emotions down anymore. It is no use hiding inevitabilities from a mirror who knows everything. “I demand the truth, mirror. Am I needed? Do they care about me at all?” The unimaginably even brighter light causes him to stumble backward by a few steps.

_ “~To both I must answer no~” _

The sounds of his labored breathing saturates the cave whilst his denied lack of nourishment does nothing to aid the weightlessness corrupting the logical reigns of control in his head. “And my brother? What does he see of me, then?” Another blinding stream of light coaxes a groan out of him, sending him another few feet backwards.

_ “~Young, sweet Patton would not mind if from your journey you do not return~” _

Logan’s breath hitches as a sharp pang seizes his chest. Around him, the cavern appears to spin into swirls of black, gray, and gold. He loses his footing and staggers once or twice in a direction unbeknownst to him. He gasps and winces as his palm lands on a rough piece of rock during an attempt to balance himself. 

He speaks through the slight sting forming on his hand. “Does Virgil share the same sentiment as my brother?” The light only flashes at an even greater intensity, causing his head to twist backward violently and for his stature to betray him once more. He is driven backward even further.

_ “~The bookkeeper? For him, your disappearance will not be a misfortune, but rather a sigh of relief~” _

An indescribable cacophony of emotions pushes thickly into his lungs, overfilling it and escaping warmly as moisture from his eyes. He tries to blink the revolting sensation away but the surrounding only rotates further, faltering his stance and lurching him rearward yet again. He steadies himself on the uneven walls, thoughts too loud for him to register the crumbling of stone below him. 

“Tell me, please. What do they think of me?” The light shines painfully bright once more but this time it does not cease. The achingly dazzling shine maintains its potency just as Logan’s eyes keep shut.

_ “~Emotionless, distant, arrogant, and incapable of genuine human connection. They think of you what you think of yourself~” _

“No. No, no,  _ no _ \--”

He does not understand why the reply rings as such novel information when that is indeed how Logan presents himself to the world. Why must he expect them to think any differently? Why has he allowed himself to adopt even this slightest taste of hope?

He knew emotions would soon become his downfall. His eyes remain squeezed shut and the mirror’s glow stands strong. “Does anyone at all respect me? Care for me? Dare I ask if anyone ever loved me at all?”

The breeze blows stronger through Logan, and his weak form wavers in his place.

_ “~A ‘yes’ is impossible to bestow on any of your queries~” _

The moisture flows free from his eyes as he feels the light glare impossibly brighter against his closed lids. With barely holding limbs and a terribly, inscrutably uncomfortable throe in his chest, Logan asks just one more question. 

“What shall happen if I do not return?”

The wind pushes stronger than the east and west monsoons falling into a synchronous ballet, pressing against Logan’s dizzying form as the unstable rock below him crumbles. The brightness becomes unbearable that even with fastened lids the shine still burns him.

As he grips harder on the rocks with a hoarse screaming ripping through his throat, the mirror whispers hauntingly for a final time. 

_ “~Dear scholar... not a single soul will ever notice~” _

His heart shatters. The light scalds him. The wind howls harder. He yells. 

He falls.

There’s a flare of sharp pain blooming on his upper torso and for a moment he feels the gushing streams of the waterfall lapping forcefully at his hair and the crude air slapping against his pale cheek. Logan waits for the tell-tale sensation of falling victim to gravity’s pull, for the rush of excitement and the hammering of his heart as the earth and its water pull him closer to his end.

But it never comes. 

Instead there is a deathly tight grip wrapping around his wrist and a muffled calling from above, drowned out by the powering roar of the falls. 

“--ve me your o--er hand!”

He thinks this must be the afterlife, and a heavenly body has merely come to fetch him. It would seem as if Patton was correct after all, and that there is still another life waiting in the midst of death. He still refrains from opening his eyes against the sun’s heat beating down on his face, but obeys.

With a struggle, he lifts up his other hand, where another tight grip worms its way there. There’s grunts of struggle and a couple of pulls. Suddenly he isn’t floating on air anymore. 

He’s back in the damp and in the dark, but definitely not in the silence.

“Open your eyes, scholar. Forgive me, forgive me, I beg you forgive me. It’s all a lie none of that is true, please, Logan, open your eyes please it’s all a lie--”

His eyes fight to at the very least squint open. He sees a tan figure with shoulder-length deep hazel hair looming over him and the vague hint of indistinguishable marks littering half of their features.

The energy finally drains out of him and the darkness threatens to claim him once more.

“No, no, no, stay, please. I cannot lose another,  _ NO _ \--!”

The darkness wins.

**~~~**

When he comes to, Logan cannot make out a single thing. He must not have his glasses on as all he sees is a blur of warm hues and earthy colors. There is a dull throb in his temple and a thin cloth draped over his clothing. A glance at his sleeve tells him that his attire may not even be of his own.

A kick of his survival instinct dawns on him upon the realization that he is in an unfamiliar space. A jolt of energy urges him to sit up only for him to be prevented by his own body. He groans. A stabbing pain attacks his left rib and summons a pained grimace on his features. 

A hand pushes him to lay back on the pillow as he breathes through gritted teeth. An oddly familiar voice comes into hearing. “Easy. Your near-fall was not too kind on you.” He hears shuffling. Soon, his own glasses come hovering into view. “Here. The other lens has suffered a few scratches but I think it is still of use.”

Logan tries to reach for it with his left hand, but the action reminds him of the bandage wrapped around his palm. He remembers where he possibly could have gotten the injury and winces. The glasses are grabbed by Logan’s right hand instead, palm littered with light abrasions but nothing more than that.

The environment comes into better view. He is in a small cottage, walls made of rough mahogany and ground made of uneven, hardened clay. Above him is a roof of dried palm leaves woven together and stabilized by more wood. There are not many possessions around save for basic furniture and a small kitchen, all inconsistently covered with a layer of dirt and dust. 

At last his eyes finally settle on the individual by his side. He sees the same shoulder-length deep hazel hair, the same tan skin and brown eyes. Lines decorate his face, as if the times have not been too kind on him. The wool clothes on him look similar to that donned on Logan, and off to the side lays a gold-accented, brown tunic and a cloak of similar shade. Logan’s own torn vest and dirtied trousers beside it is pitying next to the garment. It is the kind of clothing worn only by noblemen, and Logan finds himself growing curious of the man’s origins.

Yet he still is not sure if this is indeed who saved his life. Why that is so, he cannot yet recall.

Logan speaks through a dry throat. “Kind sir, can you please enlighten me on what transpired?” 

The stranger slowly reaches for the side table, grabbing a bowl of water. “I shall in a moment. Please. Drink.”

The man helps Logan to prop up on the bed, careful not to spark the pain on his side. Logan sits back down with a satisfied sigh after the drink, and the man begins to speak. “You stumbled further and further towards the cave’s opening. I assume you remember where your wounded left hand met its fortune. Your lightheadedness butchered your balance and your hand got the brunt of it.” 

The man rises from his seat to scoop something from a boiling pot on a fire and into another bowl. He continues his words. “As for your side, when the thin rock by the mouth of the cave gave out below you, your body collided hard with the remaining intact formation.” He returns to his original position by his side, a steaming bowl of porridge in hand and a glaze over his eyes. “I barely caught your wrist before you inevitably plummeted into the rocky waters below.”

Only then does Logan realize what is so different about his rescuer and the man in front of him now. “But that could not have been you,” he accuses; voice barely a whisper.

The man snaps his head towards him, eyes narrowing and lips forming a thin line. “I beg your pardon?”

Logan looks at him intensely. “I may be mistaken but I did catch a mere glimpse of my savior’s features. The other details are slipping my mind admittedly but I cannot forget how a splattering of marks littered at least half of his face--”

“You… you saw?” The man pales and the bowl shakes in his hand. He sets it down on the table to save it from becoming waste to the ground.

“Yes, I did.” He shifts and stifles a wince. “If that was indeed you, then please help me to comprehend how that could be.” 

Before him, the man takes in a shuddering breath. He takes a moment to think it over before he glances back down to his injured guest. “And if I prove so, do you swear not to tell a single soul?”

Logan nods. “You have my word.”

A deep inhale resonates through his rescuer. Gingerly, he stands. He wrings a piece of cloth under the rusting water pump, coming back with it damp. Logan watches as the other runs the fabric over his face, evidence of the brash markings underneath his skin returning fraction by fraction until his true face is unravelled before Logan.

Logan itches to ask about the story behind his struggle-laiden face, but he chooses wisely in his decision to do otherwise. Instead he hovers a hand over the other’s lightly, not missing how surprise catches on his face. “Then, I owe you my life, good sir. You have my unending gratitude.” 

The man clasps his other hand over Logan’s as well and nods; an acknowledgement of his gratefulness. “Your silence about this secret of mine is payment enough.”

They unclasp their hands. “Do you have a name to go by?”

The man once again hesitates, but eventually spends his voice. “Janus.”

Logan smiles. “I have not heard of such a lovely name in quite a long time.”

The other scoffs lightly. “Yes, I do believe there is a reason for that, Logan--” Janus cuts himself off, catching his mistake a morsel too late. 

Logan’s brows furrow at the mention. “I have not yet uttered my name. How do you know of this?” Logan looks at Janus, the latter refusing to meet his eyes. More questions arise in his head. “In fact, now that the matter has been shed, I am beginning to wonder how you were there in the cave in the first place. Last I recall I had no company with me in front of the mirror. You could not have possibly pulled me up from below, and there is absolutely no way for you to have reached me had you started from the foot of the waterfall--”

Janus cuts him off in a low whisper. “Do you not recognize my voice, scholar?” 

The title is a sudden jolt of electricity in his memory, and it gets Logan to pause midway. After a few more seconds of deliberation, his rested mind finally makes the connection. A spark of recognition befalls him while his jaw slowly falls ajar at the boggling realization. “You are… you’re… if you’re here, then what has become of the Mirror of Veritas?”

Janus smiles thinly. “Still there where you last saw it. And functioning too, if that is what you are worried about. I would not have recalled how to get us to my old, abandoned cottage if not for the mirror’s kind instructions--”

“Then… are you  _ part  _ of the enchanted mirror?”

Janus chuckles sparingly at Logan’s obvious confusion. “Not exactly, no. Before that,” the man adjusts how he is seated and hands the warming bowl of porridge to Logan. “you must eat. You would not have fallen that severely if not for your hunger.”

Logan gratefully accepts it and begins to lift a shaking spoon to his lips, still awaiting the other’s tale. 

Janus breaths visibly once more. “I am not the mirror, no. I have been trapped in the bastardly thing for all this time.”

Logan’s eyes widen while the food slides smoothly down his throat. “For how long?”

Janus seems to fall distracted for a moment’s crumb, answering with his gaze far from the vicinity of them two. “If I recall the curse laid on me correctly, it has been a thousand years. Though I never was able to count the passing time myself--”

“A  _ thousand  _ years?  _ Curse _ ?”

Janus nods, still not quite meeting his gaze. “Yes. I was cursed to remain in the mirror for a such a time as penance for something I had done--”

“And may I ask what this is that you have done to deserve such a punishment?”

He does not answer, only looks at Logan with a downcast expression, his mysterious marks gleaming from the orange of the setting sun through the cottage’s windows. “Eat. You badly need the nourishment. Afterwards, you must rest some more. The sooner you regain your strength, the better.”

Janus stands and leaves without a word, leaving Logan to the scanty comfort of the cottage.

~~~

“Is that all there is to your curse?” Logan asks one day, seated on a wooden stump just outside of the cottage as he unravels the bandage from his hand at last, revealing the scabbed over wound underneath. 

Janus looks at him from where he stands a few feet away, pouring a bucket of water over the surrounding flora. “I assume you’re getting better, scholar. It has been days and your verbosity is once again returning to you--”

Logan sighs. “How many times must I tell you that you need not refer to me as ‘scholar’. You know my name perfectly well.”

Janus smirks, re-placing the bucket under the artesian well so that he may pump water into it for a second time. “Ah yes, but ‘scholar’ just has much more of an elegance to it than ‘Logan’ doesn’t it? Do not take this to heart, but ‘Logan’ sounds more befitting to a simpleton than someone like you who buries his nose into parchment--”

“Yes, yes. I think we’ve established that your name is  _ much _ more dignified than mine countless times in the span of mere days, Janus. But you are evading the question.”

The bucket fills and Janus returns to his task. “Logan, if it is not too obvious yet, I am no longer trapped in the dreaded Mirror of Veritas. But I suppose I can share a bit more, since you’ve been behaving so nicely for the past… minute or so--”

Logan rolls his eyes from his seat. “Ha, ha. Quite the jester, are you?”

Janus chuckles. “I try.”

“And so? My prize for behaving so nicely for more than just the past minute?”

“Tsk, tsk. Is impatience commonplace in this era?” Janus sets down the bucket and uses his loose, woolen shirt to wipe off the sweat beading at his neck and face. “Why are you in such a rush to know this? Do you plan on leaving soon? Just when I have begun to warm up to your bothersome drawls on the contents of your journal?”

Logan shrugs and grunts when the action sends a prick of pain to his side. “Well, I suppose there is no need for dilly-dallying.” The scholar’s face grows weary with sadness. “After all, I have nothing or no one to come back to, have I? The length of my stay will not matter to those back at the kingdom. Veritas itself confirms it.”

An unreadable expression crosses Janus’s face, and if Logan peers closely he might observe how the color drains from it, and how his hands tremble at the side. Before Logan takes notice of any more oddities, the expression leaves, and Janus speaks.

“Alright. To tell you the truth, Logan, it was not easy standing in for the mirror.” Janus proceeds to grab a pair of shears from inside, returning outside with a clumsy wobble to his step. “Talking is the easy part. The answer comes to me out of thin air, and all I have to do is communicate. It’s how the people handle what I say that’s such a devastation.”

Logan knits his brows together. “How so?”

Janus snips off a few weeds growing next to a flowering plant. “Most people find satisfaction in what I say, and they run off with a smile on their face, a skip in their step.” He moves a few feet from his first position, kneeling next to another group of weeds to exterminate. “Some are not too keen with my reply, and they scamper off with such a horrifying look of terror or sorrow or rage. I can never do anything to at least ease the agony they feel.”

Then Janus stops, head bowing down as though shame has just engulfed him. He gets the vague feeling that perhaps tears are beginning to bead at the man’s eyes, so Logan makes no comment. A shudder runs through Janus’s body despite them being under the bright morning sun. 

His voice is unsteady when he speaks. “And some come to the mirror as already deeply troubled souls, hoping to find solace or comfort in the mirror’s words.” His breath hitches. “But then they hear what I have to say, and the poison already in their minds drains over into the rest of their forms.”

There is a beat of silence, and then none. “Then they jump, and I can never save them.”

Logan is abruptly pulled back into the memory of that day, where he recalls Janus screaming in the obscurity of the moment about how he “cannot lose another”; and suddenly the statement is given meaning. A piece of Logan aches for Janus’s cursed experience, but his mind traverses further back into that fateful day. More of Janus’s frantic words flood to his mind, and a certain, muffled phrase gets pushed to the forefront. The words “none” and “true” plague him, and he is suddenly desperate to inquire yet another question--

“Do you know what the worst part of my curse was, Logan?”

“What is it?”

Janus looks to him at last, showing the redness of his eyes and the tear rolling down his disfigured face. “None of my words for the entirety of those thousand years were true.”

A shiver runs through Logan, and every word the mirror whispered that day came back to him at a speed that made his chest ache and his mind to reel back into its airy state. His mouth stays speechless while his head tattles free.

Shears forgotten on the ground, Janus shakes. “Peace never paid grace to my mind as I know every response or counterpoise of each and every one who came to me were not born out of truth. Those who walked away satisfied should not have. Those who turned their backs in disappointment deserved better. Those whose lives were lost, lost themselves to dishonesty. They should have been saved by honesty, but instead they received otherwise.” 

A genuine despair makes itself known on Janus’s face as his lips tremble. “And no matter how much I wanted to tell them the entire, honest truth, I could not; for I was cursed to only speak in lies.” He chokes back a sob. “I could not care less for the excruciating span of time I spent locked in such an enclosure. My true curse is knowing that my words have brought upon so much pandemonium, so much iniquity, and that these disarrays are founded by no more than a fabrication. It’s  _ torturous  _ knowing that these people journeyed for the truth, only to be inadvertently faced with the very thing that goes against what the mirror stands for.”

He finally wipes his eyes dry, placing a clean, neutral slate over his tear-caked face. “And although this is a burden I am cursed to carry until the end of existence, unfortunately I can no longer do anything about the lives I have laid turmoil upon.” Janus looks to him, all the emotion conveying in his still moisture-laced eyes. “But I may still have a chance with you.”

Logan stutters, the thoughts in his head fluttering about confusingly. “Does… does this mean--”

“Yes. Everything you heard in the cave that day was a lie. If only I can express how much it ailed me having to tell you the adverse of what I truly wanted to say; how desperate I was to yell out the true answers you sought. None of what I said was true, Logan.”

A tear falls without permission from Logan’s ducts. “Then that must mean--”

“They’re waiting for you, Logan. I do not expect you to believe someone cursed with a deceitful tongue, but I plead that you find truth in my words nonetheless.” Janus approaches Logan cautiously. “They do indeed care for you, scholar.  _ Immensely.  _ During that day I felt their overwhelming distress and concern all the way from the other side of the woods. Every single person you mentioned, all frightened deep into their bones with every day that passes with no sign of your return.” 

Janus’s callous hand presses to Logan’s cheek as his thumb swipes a tear away. “You may not think so and you may even have been led to believe so, but I can promise you, Logan. These people care a great deal for you. Dare I say they love you; hundreds of times more than you ever ought to reserve for your own.”

There is an audible gulp and a trembling intake of air. “Forgive me.”

Logan silently caresses the hand on his cheek and sets it down. His head swims in the sudden flipping of the circumstances, of the abrupt shifting of the atmosphere, of the actual unabashed truth being exhibited before his very eyes. The words have yet to be absorbed into the nooks of his consciousness, his heart yet to accept he indeed still has a village, friends, and a family to return home to.

Another ebb of pain passes by him, the discomfort showing heavily on his crumpled face. He takes the chance to excuse himself. “I believe I must retreat back inside for now.”

A pinch of anguish swims in Janus’s irises, but he smiles, unminding for how the upturn is laced with just a dash of grief. “Of course. Let me assist you.”

Logan is helped back into the cottage without another word, much how the rest of the day passes by as well.

~~~

The conversation is practically swept under the rug after that. The pair return to their old routine the very next day, as if the previous had not occurred. 

The dark heavens pour down on the humble cottage the day Logan manages to stand without agony bleeding into his features or his stance. The sweetness of the small victory is seasoned with a sprinkling of bitterness. Logan’s stay is nearing its end.

“You needn’t ask for forgiveness that day, Janus.”

The last window is pulled shut to shield them from the heavy droplets and Janus returns to sit by Logan’s side. “You were led to believe that not a single person in your kingdom held a regard for you then almost fell to your oblivion. I think it would be sadistic not to beg for pardon.”

Logan sips at the tea in his cup, sighing at the warmth drizzling down his throat. “You are not to blame for that. It is as you say. A curse. You did not want it, nor could you have swayed it.” 

Beside him, Janus picks up his own mug of the same herbal brew. ”But it is of my doing that the curse was laid upon me. Hence, still my fault, to a degree.”

Logan shakes his head, allowing his knee to brush against Janus’s lightly. “Nonsense. In fact, I think it is I who might owe you an apology.” The wind howls outside, blowing in time to Janus turning his head to raise an eyebrow.

“May I ask what for? Just to clarify, all my remarks regarding your verboseness is in teasing--”

Steam rises from the cup as Logan huffs a breath. “No, I am fully aware of your sad attempts at humor, of course. I am offering an apology because… I think I might have uncoded the precise reasoning behind your curse.” He looks to Janus beside him, awaiting any indication of positive or negative emotion.

“And what is this inference you have made?” Janus asks; doing so without sparing Logan so much as a glance.

Logan reaches for his satchel slowly, careful not to jostle his still healing rib. Janus scrambles to assist him but Logan refuses. Once in his possession he pulls out one of the oldest books he borrowed from Virgil, opening it up to a yellowing folded page. 

The page talks of speculations regarding the first ever person to chance upon the mirror. He hands over the open literature to Janus and watches as he reads about a nobleman who used the mirror’s power to rise to his own. A nobleman who could not accept when others began to discover the treasure as well. A nobleman who wished to have the mirror’s gifts all to himself and never returned. No name is written.

Outside, the thunder roars through the skies just as Janus slams the book shut, breaths once again deep and heavy. 

Carefully, Logan retrieves the book from him. “I have taken notice of the material of the finer attires you have. I have taken into account the publishing date of this book, when the man in the writing might have lived, and how long your stay in the mirror was. Whatever you tell me is what I will believe to be the truth. So am I correct? Is the nobleman in the records… _ you _ ?”

Janus still refuses to meet his eyes. “Tell me first. Do you believe in what the book dictates?”

“I will only take your word--”

“And if I choose to lie?”

“I will have to trust that you will not.”

Janus takes a long sip out of his cup with closed eyes. He breathes out as they flutter open. “Then yes. The nobleman in question is I.” Janus faces him. “The reasons in the book are indeed the truth, but not in its entirety.”

Logan lifts a leg onto the wooden couch, body facing Janus as he does so. Janus continues while the rain falls stronger. “My village took one look at me and decided I was too monstrous to have been born out of natural orders. They thought my mother must be in some manner of cohorts with the devil through witchcraft. They burned her at the stake and drove me to flee the place years later. That is when I stumbled upon the mirror.” He looks down, swishing the liquid in the cup around. “It is true. The mirror provided me with everything I needed. From concealing my grotesque face to earning another village’s trust, to secrets the townspeople held. And yes, Logan. I attempted to wedge the mirror out from its confines and take it for myself.” 

Janus scoffs and shakes his head, as if scolding no one but himself. “Did greed partake in the act? Of course it did. Part of me definitely wanted and yearned to hold on to what I already had beneath my grasp. But it was not greed which held most sway over my recklessness. It was  _ fear. _ ”

Once more, Janus pauses to take a sip, both of their forms jolting at another clap of thunder. “For most of my life I knew nothing but the taste of suffering and rejection for something I never once asked for, nor could I control. Once I was finally freed of my misery I swore I would never return to it. Having them learn of the mirror’s whereabouts brought about an unabashed sense of terror in me, Logan.” 

As he says it, the same terror seems to flood Janus’s expression. Logan wonders if it is from the storm, their conversation, or both. “The mirror knows all, including your deepest frustrations and my most well-hidden secrets. I feared that the people might uncover my origins, that the mirror might give away what I hold tightly to my chest. I feared having to go through the same agony I had suffered so many years ago, that I will once again learn the taste of hatred and dejection.”

The lightning casts a split second of brightness through the gaps in the window, basking Janus’s mangled half in light. Then the thunder booms loudly again. “Can you blame me for wanting a life where I am accepted? Is it so heinous of a crime to not want to be shunned by my own species?”

The sound of rain pattering strongly on the roof mingles with the sound of vegetation slapping against their wooden walls, and through it Logan shakes his head. He waits patiently as Janus bows and subtly swipes a finger under his eyes, the moisture gone as if it were never there. Logan dares to scoot closer, allowing their adjacent arms to brush against each other side by side in a feather light touch.

“You know, Janus. I am beginning to think that perhaps it is not solely you who the mirror has put a curse upon.”

Janus raises a brow but says nothing. 

“With how much prejudice the world has brought upon your shoulders, maybe the mirror only ought to return the favor. It is not the noblest of ploys, no, but I pray that the thought might offer you even just the smallest slice of comfort. Maybe the mirror decided to feed the world a taste of its own poison.”

“But the  _ lies  _ I’ve told--”

“Were never of your own volition. I’ve listened to your story and I needed no time to comprehend that you are not a monster, Janus. Whether on your outward appearance or your internal clockwork, you never have been and you are not. It is the world who has wronged you. If I could reverse the hands of time just to take you from the clutches of those inhumane folks before you even got a whiff of the anguish about to befall you, I would.”

Janus leans closer as Logan proceeds. “Have you done wrong? Inevitably so. But so has everyone. My father, my mother, my brother, the bookkeeper, even the noblest of royals and even I, myself. We’ve all made a few mishaps in our lives, but that does not make us any less worthy of compassion.” Logan looks to Janus with all the sincerity his eyes can hold. “It does not make you any less worthy of love.”

Janus nods and sends a melancholic smile Logan’s way. “You are a kind, wise soul, Logan. You have my thanks.”

They jump as another round of thunder and lightning reverberates through the weeping heavens. A thought crackles in Logan’s mind once the crackling of the skies fade. He takes another glance at the man beside him still sipping tea, then musters up the courage to make the suggestion.

“Come home with me.”

Janus snaps his head to look at him. “Logan, where in the heavens did you pluck this idea from--”

“I am not fibbing, Janus. There is not an ounce of insincerity in my body when I say that I am inviting you to return with me to my village.”

Janus laughs breathily. “You know that the possibility of that is not even a choice on the matter. You’ve read  _ and  _ heard of what my previous people have done upon sight of me--”

“And it has been a millennium since then. Time has been ever so slightly gracious. The people’s opinions regarding such a dismissible topic as someone’s facial features have changed and it is highly improbable that out of the millions of human beings on this planet not a single one will treat you with fairness--”

“You do not know that for sure. I am better off alone here in this cottage than integrated with the rest of humanity.”

“You will never know how fate will treat you this time around unless you try--”

Janus sneers. “You have no difficulty suggesting such a preposterous idea because you have the mirror’s truth by your side to reassure you that there are indeed loved ones awaiting your return. I am a different case, Logan. I have no one.”

Logan sets down his cup. “Am I not anyone? Am I no one?”

Janus swivels his gaze without a reply spilling from his lips. Logan carries on. “You need not the mirror to tell you that there are people who do not see you differently just because your skin is marred from birth. You need not the mirror to tell you that I am that person, and that I could not give a single damn whether it was your entire body the gods have chosen to frown upon.”

“You are merely a single person out of millions--”

“But still one more than none.”

A strong gust of wind blows by and they shiver. No one acknowledges how they pull their bodies more taut against each other, nor how inviting the warmth is. The gray skies cry harder, pulling along the lightning and the thunder into its chaotic symphony. For a while no one utters a word, until Logan chases the silence and wins it over.

“Janus, how long do you suppose before the downpour ceases?”

Leaving him a questioning glance, Janus turns his head to the window and listens to the strengthening wails of the storm. “In a fortnight, most likely.”

Logan reclaims his cooling cup and sips, clearing his throat after. “If so, you have until then to change your mind.”

Janus sits rigidly beside him. “And you will leave, then?”

“...It is as you said. I have yet to finish my quest and they await my return.”

The other nods. “Indeed.”

Not a word more is uttered.

~~~

When the sun finally rises again on the little cottage in the middle of the woods, the dawn it brings fills the small interior with yellows of relief and oranges of bitterness.

The former nobleman’s form remains tarred to the seat, eyes flitting about in silence as Logan darts around. The latter picks up his scrolls and his parchments from the table while a pot boils warm water nearby. He reclaims his vest and his boots, shining them off as if they were built for fragility. The journal is placed snug into his satchel and his scratched spectacles are wiped with the hem of his undershirt. Wordlessly, Janus hands him a bag of goods and a jug of water, allowing their fingers to brush for an agonizing second.

They share a look once Logan is stood by the door and Janus by the steaming pot inside. “I take that this is goodbye?” Logan asks, feet already touching the cobblestone and the grass outside.

Janus’s chest rises and falls. “I am afraid so.”

Logan’s fingers wrap tighter around the strap of the bag. “I am asking you for a final time, Janus. I see no reason why those I am acquainted with back home will see you any less than I do. Come with me.”

Their gaze stands unwavering unlike their voices, but they pretend there is no shudder in their words. “Farewell, scholar. I hope safety finds you in your travels.”

It is only in this instance that Logan realizes how the breadth of his stay with Janus never at all required him to silence the waves of joy, the echoes of sorrow, or the songs of any other emotion he would have repressed before he ever found the mirror. Now, seconds from leaving this man with only the memory of him stored neatly in his mind, Logan finds the need to chain up his heart and its too-emotional strings once more.

“Thank you, Janus. For everything. Farewell.”

He swiftly turns and does not dare look back. Every hasty step he makes forward is heavy, every foot farther he makes more painful than the last. He walks until he can no longer hear the gentle tapping of Janus’s fingers against wood nor the sound of steam escaping the lidded pot. He walks until all Logan hears is the faint rustling of leaves weakly masking the beating of his heart. 

_ “Halt!” _

The brash sound is a sharp cut through the stillness of the woods. Soon it is accompanied by ragged breaths and quick, weighted steps squelching against the still damp cover of the forest. Logan turns around and sees the same man he had just left minutes ago, hair in a tussle, woolen shirt sliding off his shoulders, modest straw bag in hand, and face unconcealed for Logan to see in its genuine imperfection. 

Logan barely stops the smile teasing at his lips. “And when did you have the time to pack belongings?”

Janus catches his breath in front of him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his smile as well. “I’ve had it ready before dawn, even before you awoke from slumber. Just in case I… in case I rethought my decision.”

“And I assume you did?”

Janus tidies his appearance as much as he can manage, the smile turning into a familiar look of staidness hinted with a pearl of uncertainty. “Are all that you have said true? They will not see me any less than you do?”

Logan steps closer. “Even if they do, my thoughts will never change. I shall never think of you differently, Janus. No number of people saying otherwise will ever taint my mind.”

A single huff of breath makes it past Janus and he nods in decreasing skepticism. “I suppose I will have to trust you, then.”

Logan braves offering a hand to this man, watching as the other eyes it warrily. “Do you?”

Janus takes it. “I do.”

They begin their journey with pleasantry enveloping the pair, hopeful for the road ahead and the promise of home waiting on the other side.

The mirror remains in its geological encasing, where it will remain seated even as its now truthful words lay valiant service to King Theomas’s kingdom and his loyal subjects. Its golden frame gilded with rubies and emeralds will forevermore gleam anew, its glass never again to utter dishonesty to any wandering traveller who gazes upon its majesty.

If one were to ask it if the thousand-year old nobleman’s and the wise scholar’s words to each other that day they left the cottage held any truth to it… the Mirror of Veritas would whisper in its sweetest, most caressing tone a clear, resounding  _ “yes.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're all doing great! Every little support and kudos is eternally appreciated. Come by and visit me on Tumblr [@nerdy-emo-royal-dad](https://nerdy-emo-royal-dad.tumblr.com/)! Stay safe! <3


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